


Thai bickering with feet

by Marmosette



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bickering, M/M, Thursdays are Thai food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:45:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmosette/pseuds/Marmosette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an anonymous asker on Tumblr requested something sweet with Mystrade, with a theme of them not getting any younger. And they're not. They're just not too upset about it. They're worn in, and comfortable. There's a comfortable level where they have achieved a nice background bicker they can drop into whenever there's a lull. Thursdays are Thai food night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thai bickering with feet

“It was a long day. You closed...one...? No. You opened a can of worms - found the long-sought evidence, and it lead to more. Shouted at three subordinates. Missed lunch, ate something sticky from a vending machine, and had to spend the last few hours at a crime scene. The zoo, possibly?”

Greg looked across at Mycroft. Mycroft was holding an open folder on his knee, tipping his head back against his chair, half-smiling to himself as he met Greg’s eyes. “No, you really do not want to know,” he said, shaking his head and finally laughing just a bit.

“Let me guess,” Greg sighed, taking his coat and jacket off at once and letting them fall to the floor around him, then kicking of his shoes as well and shuffling into the living room to flop across the sofa. “I smell like a zoo. I’ve got crisps stuck on my teeth, you can tell from my breathing that I’m hoarse from shouting...”

“Why did you take the case? You know Dimmock was perfectly happy -”

“Ah, fuck it,” Greg sighed, flapping his hand blindly in Mycroft’s direction. “You already know anyway. So how did you do with your phone call?” He twisted his head to look in Mycroft’s general direction, relying on peripheral vision. “Did you get the guy?”

Mycroft wafted the folder shut with one hand and set it on the table next to him. “I cannot comment on whether or not a certain terror cell vacated a building a matter of minutes before the satellite link came online. And if such an event occurred, I certainly would not be able to tell you how many civilians were killed in their retreat.” He stood, shifting his shoulders restlessly, his hands sliding into his pockets. “I’ve another hour before the phone calls will begin again. Dinner?”

Greg wrinkled his nose and sighed, turning away. “Delivery. Thai?”

“Greg.”

“Jesus. Thursday, forgot. How long?”

“Ten minutes.” Mycroft crossed to his side, nudged him with a knee, and Greg lifted his legs, letting Mycroft sit down, then lowering his feet onto Mycroft’s lap. 

“One of these days, though, I am going to have to sort Anderson out properly.”

“Fire him?”

Greg snorted, curling his lip. “Don’t be stupid. You sound like your brother. I just mean... this business with him and Sherlock. Everyone knows Sherlock’s never going to be decent, so Anderson’s just got to.”

“He could be transferred.”

“He doesn’t want to move. Likes his job, silly bugger.”

“I could have Sherlock killed.”

“Tried that. Didn’t take.”

Mycroft sighed, setting his hand on Greg’s ankles. “Perks, pay, promotion.”

“I know, I know.”

“You do.”

They were quiet for a moment. “How’s Anthea doing?” Greg asked. Mycroft looked across at him slowly, one eyebrow raised. “You’ve not seen her yet?” Mycroft turned away. “Yeah, well, there’s yours,” he said firmly. 

“I’d hardly equate Anthea and Anderson,” Mycroft began, but Greg nudged him in the chest with a foot.

“Oy. Sort it, then.”

“She’s not mine to sort.”

“Have you even been in to the office this month?” There was a heated silence. “It could start to look like you’re avoiding her.”

“I am,” Mycroft said.

“Oh for God’s sake, Mycroft.”

“It’s not as simple as -”

“No, not that,” Greg cut him off with another poke at his sternum. “We can’t even have a proper conversation anymore. It’s all short-hand for arguments we’ve already started. Neither one of us is going to win, anyway.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, and Greg knew he was trying to hide a smile. “Am I boring you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Mycroft, you’re boring. Except when you’re not, and you’re scary as hell.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re turning into one of those old couples who keep rehashing the same old fights, bickering away from neighbouring beds in the care home.”

Mycroft laughed. “I hardly think either one of us will go so gently into that good night.”

“You just said that to try to tempt me to say you’re the one who’s raging. See? I’m onto you.”

“You’re as bad as Sherlock.”

“And you love me anyway.”

“Get your smelly feet off of me and go answer the door. That’ll be the food.”


End file.
